He ought to have assigned Ellen's unwillingness to see him to its true
cause, but a guilty conscience made him think she had heard of his
disgrace and was turning away from him in contempt. Brave as had been
his resolutions about facing the world, this was more than he was
prepared for; "What! you too shun me, Ellen?" he exclaimed.
The girl was crying bitterly and did not understand him. "Oh, Master
Ernest," she sobbed, "let me go; you are too good for the likes of me to
speak to now."
"Why, Ellen," said he, "what nonsense you talk; you haven't been in
prison, have you?"
"Oh, no, no, no, not so bad as that," she exclaimed passionately.
"Well, I have," said Ernest, with a forced laugh, "I came out three or
four days ago after six months with hard labour."
Ellen did not believe him, but she looked at him with a "Lor'! Master
Ernest," and dried her eyes at once. The ice was broken between them,
for as a matter of fact Ellen had been in prison several times, and
though she did not believe Ernest, his merely saying he had been in
prison made her feel more at ease with him. For her there were two
classes of people, those who had been in prison and those who had not.
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